Like this:

Sometimes, I wonder about him. He was devastated. I called him about a business matter, but he mentioned his pain. I couldn’t ignore his grief. His father died. I told him I understood. I could relate to him losing someone he loved, because I’d lost someone recently, too. I told him it would take time to heal, and how crazy family can be during a time of loss because everyone is trying to show the deceased how much they were loved and appreciated. There’s not a blueprint for how to grieve. Everyone does it differently. I wonder if he remembers my words.

I heard he lost his job because he started drinking. I guess he was trying to numb the pain. It feels prideful for me to say this, but sometimes I wonder if he remembers our conversation. I would call and check on him if I had his number. To be honest, I don’t even recall his name. I just remember the pain behind the voice on the other end of the phone. I wonder if he remembers that someone cared, and understood. I guess I still care, even now. I hope he’s doing well. I hope he’s healing.

The Post-A-Day Blog Challenge is almost over and I am patting myself on the back for keeping up with it! So, just in case you missed it, I am going to recap and list what I’ve posted so far. Here goes!

I started this challenge a day late with my first post in 3 months, Back To Life.

If you are into Science Fiction, you might enjoy Ripples. (I plan on continuing this story! Part 2 is coming soon!)

I’ve been trying to write a story to the picture featured in this post for AGES! It finally came together! If you are into Women’s Fiction, Sound Sleeper is for you!

I shared a link to a vlog about a saddening incident that occurred in my community. It’s worth hearing what this vlogger has to say about being Black In America.

If you have a writer, painter, singer, or artist of any type in your sphere, you NEED to understand how to care for them! They are fragile creatures! Take a moment to read The Care and Feeding of Your Creative One, then apply the lessons learned. They will thank you.

I haven’t written a poem in a while. Step by Step was inspired by a scripture that says, “don’t despise a day of small beginnings.” Take a read! Be inspired!

The Painting is a story about a budding romance. The image selected was the inspiration for this story.

So far, Hell Hound, is my favorite post in this challenge! I let my hair down and let my twisted sense of humor come out to play! 😀 This was inspired by two writing prompts. Take a read if you are looking for a laugh!

I stumbled upon this poem in the notes on my Facebook page. I wrote this piece in 2009 after releasing a few toxic people from my life. Sometimes, the people you love and care about are the ones that hurt you most. Letting them go isn’t cold blooded. It’s self care.

If you are dealing with toxic people in your life, may this poem, Thanks to You, offer you some strength and encouragement. Enjoy!

He held this new creation in his arms.
Oh, how his wife had suffered.
Two before, born and lived
Only to have one slay the other.
The living son was banished
A piece of her heart left with them.
She thought all was lost,
Until her belly swelled with life once more.
Light came back to her eyes.
She glowed.
Her sense of purpose was restored.
She was made to be a mother.
She did it so well,
That many times he thought
She was created first.
He was happy that she was restored
But he was concerned.
Confusion had slithered into their lives before.
What would happen with this child?
If they had another son,
Would brother kill brother again?
The child squirmed in his arms,
Pressing closer to his father for warmth,
Seeking comfort and protection.
He vowed to be a better father this time. No harm would…

I was angry. Even though two years had passed, the pain was still deep. I understood her attempt at an apology was meant to bring closure to me and my family, but I felt like she was just trying to ease her conscience. It didn’t stop me from wondering what kind of animal she raised. There wasn’t anything that she or her son could say to ease the pain. I stopped short of wishing her son dead. I wasn’t cold enough or hateful enough to wish this kind of pain on anyone else.

There isn’t a word that describes the loss of child. There’s simply a void – a painful, sickening,and overwhelming void. A piece of my heart died. The person that was a physical part of me for nine months, who I nursed and held in my arms, that looked up to me with loving and…

Today’s #TBT piece is the first post from 2014’s A to Z challenge. For some people, being alone is a frightful thought! But, it’s not a bad thing to spend some time by yourself. “Alone is not lonely.” Remember that!

Today’s Throwback Thursday piece made me smile. Four years later, I can’t think of a thing I would change about this (with the exception of the “new” color dotting my hairline. But even that is of minimal concern!) I guess this is what aging gracefully is all about! Happy Thursday friends!

The face is familiar. There are five different faces looking back at me. My mother, my father, my aunt, my child and my grandfather look back at me. Yet, I’m an original. I remember when I was thinner. My skin was smoother. My hair was longer. My eyes were brighter. Now, there is a veil – a thin film over my face. Life was etched around my eyes, across my forehead, on either side of my mouth. The dark circles under my eyes aren’t from a lack of sleep. Maybe they are. I those dark circles are from the tears I’ve cried. That’s what I think. They are evidence of over-dried tear ducts. The parentheses around my mouth are smile lines. They are frown lines. I smiled for every love I thought I discovered and embraced. Then I scowled when the love I thought was real, vanished like no more…

“I used to be beautiful,” she said as she looked into the mirror. “Now, I’m old and my beauty is gone.” I studied her reflection as she fixed her hair and put on her earrings. Her skin was dark, and baby soft, without a spot or scar. There were lines across her forehead, around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. The skin around her neck was loose, but not lined. I didn’t see any missing beauty. I’d seen pictures of mama when she was twenty. She was just as beautiful today as she was fifty years ago, when the pictures were taken.

“You’re still beautiful, mama.”

“With all these lines in my face? No. Beauty is fleeting. Says so in the bible. Mine faded long ago.”

“But, there’s more to you than your face. You could’ve worn a paper bag over your head from the…

Aunt Vera and I sat on her front porch and watched the rain fall. We were wrapped in blankets and sitting on the lawn sofa, sipping tea. This was the thing we did. We were experiencing a cool, steady, spring rain. The sound of the rain hitting the grass and paved surfaces was soothing. The air was clean, and most of the world hid inside, too afraid to get wet. The slick, sloshing sound of tires the of passing vehicles made against the roadway punctuated the liquid symphony.

“Me and your Uncle used to do this,” Aunt Vera said.

“I remember. I miss Uncle Vern.”

She nodded. We fell silent again. Uncle Vernon passed away a little over a year ago. It was sudden. He was the picture of heath. He went to the gym regularly, avoided junk food and took all kinds…